Lesson Thirteen
by Tek Sonay
Summary: Sarah is back, and she's as cheeky as ever. Jareth thinks himself most displeased!


_"Lesson Thirteen"_

Jareth's eyes widened.

 _No._

His sharp brows dipped, dragging creases down his forehead.

 _Gods, no._

The King of the Goblins lurked in the shadowed hallway leading to his throne room. Yes, he was lurking. That blasted Sarah Williams was here with her demeaned goblin baby possy. Was this the third week she had been here, fourth? He had no idea how she kept stealing back into the Underground, because if he did, he would be pushing her right back out again because -

"Jareth! Are you hiding over there?" Sarah said.

It was one thing for him to admit it, it was another thing for her to call him out in front of his grimy subjects who, to his horror, had set down their powdery color sticks and were now scrambling towards him, no doubt planning to draw him into their submission zone. They would not sully another pair of his trousers! He kicked at them fiercely. They tumbled back in a giggling frenzy, like those bowling pin artifacts Sarah had brought a few days ago.

"What demented amalgam are you brewing up this time?" Jareth sneered, crossing his arms under the stone archway.

"It's called chalk. It's not a brew, though it stirs up some lovely shades. We're drawing a mural. Wanna see?"

"I suppose this is another one of those 'lessons,' as you like to call them? Educating the goblins. Hah! As if they need know anything more than obeying my orders."

Sarah dusted off her skirt and stood. "As if you know anything about propriety, Mister Sinful Pants. Here. Try some chalk."

Jareth arched a brow at the proffered blue stick and beyond. Just because the Champion had grown taller and some other… things, rather nicely he'd concede, in the past several years did not mean she had improved to the point where he would allow her to pester him whenever she pleased. Stretching out his crystal-tipped cane, Jareth rapped the chalk, watching in satisfaction as a piece snapped off and shattered on the dirty tile. He started when Sarah leaned forward and seized the cane in her hand.

"That wasn't playing fair," she said, green eyes glittering. She raised her voice. "Goblins, lesson thirteen: what do we say when someone isn't being fair?"

There rose a sudden a cacophony of clattering chalk, squeaking leather, screeching toenails, and squawking chickens as the goblins once again swarmed towards him.

Grinning madly, they answered as one: "Tra la la!"

"Into the Bog with you lot!" Jareth roared, flinging a crystal. The air burst into dazzling lights and dust of seven different colors. By the time all coughing ceased, the room was empty excepting a single stunned chicken.

"This place could use a visit from the Cleaners," Jareth muttered at the messy floors. "And you!" He loomed over Sarah. "For a self-proclaimed teacher, you're missing some key instruction."

Sarah Williams was not a woman to be bullied, but she nevertheless backtracked until Jareth had to reach out and grab her waist to keep her from tripping into the pit. "Oh? What sort of instruction, Jareth?" she crooned.

Jareth stared at her. When had they last been this close? He knew it was in his best interest to withdraw his hands, but they seemed to have disassociated themselves from his willpower and grown roots on her hips. Hips. And here he hadn't even touched the very good wine. "For starters, cease calling me that. Whatever happened to, 'Goblin King, Goblin King'?"

"Oh Goblin King, Goblin King." Sarah draped her arms around his neck.

A song was playing: Susurrus of Fabrics. A good joke. Why weren't the goblins laughing? Oh right, the Bog.

His eyes had apparently developed minds of their own along with his hands. They wanted to travel places they didn't belong, like along Sarah's rich dark hair, or on her lips. Lips were for other lips, didn't they know, and for whispering things in ears, which he felt more than happy to do as he leaned down…

"What in the Underground is that?" he said, finally noticing the lurid mural scrawled across the floor.

Sarah slipped from his grasp to pluck a discarded piece of red chalk from the pit.

"This, dear Jareth," she announced, kneeling and swirling the cherry atop the massive drawing, "is a big. Fat," she grinned, "piece of cake."

Jareth rolled a crystal across his knuckles. "I say we up the stakes again. Don't you agree?"

"At least this time we have a basis for comparison."

"I assure you; nothing you've experienced thus far will compare to what I'm about to do to you."

"Presumptuous much? My lessons aren't free, you know. Actually, when I gave Hoggle one the other day, he said that I was -"

A few elusive maneuvers later, and Jareth caught her behind his throne.

Sarah laughed in his arms. "That sure got your attention."

Then she laughed again! Jareth simply had to silence her.

So he did.

With his mouth.

His fingers traced the earlier coveted path of his eyes: gliding across her skin, burying themselves in her hair. Sarah went limp. Her palms pressed against his chest, and delicious heat hummed between them as their lips performed a _pas de deux_.

"Mmm… Jareth…"

"Hmm."

"...Jareth."

"Nnn."

"Goblin… King."

Jareth gently drew her bottom lip between his teeth before easing off. He was pleased to see her cheeks were flushed.

But Sarah had that familiar spark in her gaze.

Jareth frowned. "No."

"I haven't even said anything. Wanna know how I keep sneaking in?"

"No."

"Come on, it's stupidly easy. In fact, I'll teach you. You say 'I wish' but then you -"

"Gods, just _no_."

Sarah's words vanished under another kiss. Why should he care anymore when she was finally here, in his arms? He was so neutral about this that he could overlook her deliberate indoctrination of his subjects. Well, excepting that bit with his goblins mocking him. When had he even said "tra la la," like once?

Anyways.

Jareth had a feeling that learning the "why" of her return was going to be his favorite lesson of all.


End file.
